


Intersection, Dissection

by Volitaire



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM-esque Relationship if You S Q U I N T, Catharsis, Dirty Talk, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Eloping, Graphic Depictions of Killing, Hannibal-centric, Hannibal-style, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Meeting the Parents, Murder Husbands, Past Child Abuse, Past Will/Alana if You Squint, Philosophy, Protective Hannibal, Soft Hannibal, Sort Of, Takes Place Somewhere After Season 1?, Therapy for All Parties, Will Graham Knows, Will's dad is an asshole, almost, comfort smut, handjobs, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volitaire/pseuds/Volitaire
Summary: Hannibal was not thrilled by the notion of meeting Beau Graham.In which Hannibal and Will elope, and Will is guilted into meeting with his father.





	Intersection, Dissection

Hannibal was not thrilled by the notion of meeting Beau Graham. Taking time out his weekend to meet the man who was largely responsible for a majority of Will's physical and emotional scars... it seemed like a waste of his time and resolve. But Will insisted on this meeting and Hannibal refused to let him go alone, at any rate.

He had long dreamt of killing the man that beat and neglected and abandoned Will. The image Hannibal had of him was a gross characterization—a monster with no redeeming qualities.

He seemed unattainable, a placeholder for the ugliest urges Hannibal held. He wanted to pare the man-- not turning him into art, but rather depriving it of him in death.

Having to meet the man in the flesh left him focusing all of his self-restraint.

In particular, Hannibal remembered having to pick up the pieces after Will received the first livid, vile voicemail during work.

He remembers it well. Hannibal had gotten a call from Jack asking if _he_ knew why Will had abruptly cancelled the rest of his classes until Monday and couldn't be contacted.

The whole charade caused Hannibal to cancel the rest of his sessions for the day. Will wouldn't answer his phone, but Hannibal knew where he was.

He deduced that the marriage announcements must have made it to Will's childhood tutor.

Will had to be talked down from sending one directly to his father-- a guilt-reflex at best, Hannibal explained to him. But Will couldn't be convinced to _not_ send one to anyone in Louisiana. The tutor was a negotiation.

It was only two weeks after the announcements were sent that Will got the first call.

Hannibal pulled up to the Wolf Trap house, and Will's car was there. He had no doubts that it would be there, but it was still satisfying to be correct—to know Will this way. The house was dark, and he heard the distant stirring of water. He set out toward the pond.

Will sat at the end of the pier and stared blankly into the water when he arrived. His fishing pole was anchored into the built-in holder, but it was clear by its insistent bobbing that the pole wasn't being attended to.

Hannibal lingered behind his husband, standing behind him as he read further into his body language. His posture was rigid but fatigued. He was holding his tension across his shoulders, despite his defeated slouch. His breathing was mechanical, detached. He held something in his hands, shielding it from anyone else's view.

Hannibal held his hand out. Will vacantly held his phone for him to take. He unlocked it, finding the screen entailing his past calls. One from a 337-number from some hours ago. The rest were to his voicemail. Every thirty minutes for the last four hours.

"Was it your father?" Hannibal asked.

Will didn't answer, but he didn’t have to.

Hannibal checked Will’s voicemail, imagining a message like this he would save.

_One saved message. 1:34 p.m. from 337-825-5827. Duration four minutes and nineteen seconds_. An abrasive, lightly slurred drawl came from the speaker. Hannibal turned down the volume as not to have Will hear it again.

_So, I wasn't invited? I'm really that unimportant? I raised you better than this, Willy. This is just disrespect, is what this is. Plain disrespect. And_ then _you go off and marry a man? I looked him up, you know, this doctor._

_It's really pissing on your family's name to turn into this faggy housewife instead of being a man and living on your own damn pay. The fact that you kept the last name is a fucking joke. You're taking his money, you might as well take his name too. Make you into his bitch then._

_Are you gonna cook him dinner and clean his house while he's out at work? You gonna quit your job? Wait until he kicks the damn bucket and take his money?_

_Turning yourself into some useless trophy wife? Was working too hard for you? Couldn't take it? Had to turn into some woman? Pathetic._

_You better call me back, hear? You better explain yourself. Right now, you ain't no son of mine. You make me sick. Better call me and clear things up._

_Might just disown you. Cause right now, seems to me, you don't deserve the name of Graham. Your granddaddy is rolling in his goddamn grave, Willy_.

He pocketed Will's phone, rage shallowly stewing under the surface of his composure. He eased Will to his feet and held him to his chest. The comfort of physical affection may be quite foreign to him, but he could not deny the simple pleasure derived from Will's happiness.

"Are you going to call him back?" Hannibal asked.

Will sighed. "I- I don't know. I hate it when he talks to me like that- It just-" It seems the myriad emotions he was repressing rushed forth. He sobbed into Hannibal's shoulder.

He instantly wanted to make this man pay even more. He wanted to track the number, track the man, and slaughter him. He never wanted Will to feel this way again.

But they negotiated. Will would call Mister Graham back, and Hannibal would be in the room for support. It was nearly impossible to convince Hannibal not to make the call himself.

That Saturday, Hannibal poured themselves two liberal fingers of his favourite scotch. It was after their dinner, after a tense display during the meal from Will, and after long, empty stares into the past.

It would be eight-thirty in Louisiana. He should be just getting off work. He'd either be in a good mood or a terrible mood; it depended on the day.

Will took a long drink of his scotch and sighed. He looked back to Hannibal for reassurance one last time. He dialed the number and leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair.

He fidgeted with the hem of his jacket as the phone dialed.

"Yeah?" Came the gruff, impatient voice on the other side of the line.

"Dad," Will said quietly, voice carefully neutral.

There was a slight pause. "You actually called back. 'M surprised."

The voice was already accusatory and cold.

"There is some explanation I should provide."

"I'd fuckin' say." 

Emotion flickered across Will's face. Hannibal found it to me a mix of helplessness and wrath. It was a good look on most, especially when Hannibal was hunting. It was usually satisfying to be on the receiving end of such a look, the fear and wavering defiance of prey.

But he hated the look on Will. His wrath was usually breathtaking when provoked. But he hated the way his power proved diluted with traumas, with the aftershocks of powerlessness.

"We eloped in January. No one was invited because it was spontaneous."

The idle movement of his fingers quickened. He shot a quick look to his husband, then fixed his eyes on the ground.

"What's he make? How's his life insurance?"

Will pressed his lips together. "We'd been dating for two years previously."

"Doesn't answer my question. You're just playing the long con, aren't you? Things with the women turn out bad, and you turn around and marry a rich guy."

Alana's face flashed in Will's mind. He cast his eyes to the ground. "That's not it."

"If you were my daughter, maybe I'd be proud of you. But you aren't." His voice dropped maliciously. "Unless you are? You some shemale?"

The vitriol, the hate left a sour taste in Will's mouth. "Stop. No."

"Did you know that this is the first time you called me in seven years? Where's the Christmas card? Where's the love for your old man?"

"What do you- you want me to make it up for you? Is that what you want?" Will's voice was shaking. The fidgeting was no longer enough to contain his energy. He began pacing the floor—a trapped animal.

"Now that you say that... your john makes good money, right? Take me to dinner. Let's catch up."

Will knew he shouldn't do this. They had talked about this. Hannibal had told him about the exploitative tendencies of abusive parents once their children found success. Any interaction was a means to plant a proverbial seed of doubt, of the impossibility of their accomplishments. These people often hoped for relapse, a return to the role of controller and manipulator.

"Fine. Sure."

"Father's Day is coming up in a month."

"Yes."

"Surprise me. Impress me."

Guilt got the better of him.

"Okay," Will relented.

"Don't disappoint me."

Mister Graham hung up.

-

The morning arrived for them to leave and Will was pulling on an overcoat Hannibal had purchased for him for their first anniversary. He looked at himself in the mirror, eyes forged in doubt and anxiety. He fidgeted with the silver band on his finger.

Hannibal studied his rigid posture, taking note of his unstable breathing.

"You're beginning to ponder the most unfavourable outcomes," Hannibal stated as he knotted his own tie.

Hannibal ran a single broad hand down his chest, taking a silent breath.

He wrapped his arms around Will's waist, encompassing him, steadying him.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Will," he murmured. He took in the smell of his nerves, how they minutely quelled as Hannibal pulled him up for a soft kiss.

"I am imagining my father making a scene, confronting me. Humiliating me."

"That's not the darkest thing swirling around up there." He kissed the nape of Will's neck. "Otherwise, you would be less shaken."

Will hesitated. "What if I can't control myself? When I was younger, I would never try and fight him. He'd beat me when he'd drink, but I could never raise a hand at him. I always saw the light in him, I would always justify his behaviour." Will's words shook while he tried to force himself into relaxation in Hannibal's embrace.

They met eyes in the mirror for a moment before Will looked away. "I have the means and the motivation to hurt him. I'm not naive anymore; I see through his apologies." His breath caught in his throat. "I _want_ to hurt him."

"You want to reclaim the violence you were denied in your childhood. It is understandable-- he caused you great wounds and injustices."

Will frowned. "Would you hurt him, if you were me?"

Will didn't miss how Hannibal's eyes flashed in the early morning light. "One cannot assume context as masterfully as you, Will, but I can offer my limited insight.

“As William Shannon Graham, I would force myself to keep the darkness at bay for a number of obvious reasons. Preservation of lifestyle would be the most savoury." he paused, voice dropping. "As Hannibal Lecter IX, your husband, I'd like to see him simply annihilated."

Will shivered against him in response. "What would the Chesapeake Ripper say?"

Will expected him to hesitate. The truth of his identity was still a contentious point between them. Hannibal has often restrained himself when asked questions about his tendencies.

Hannibal had no hesitation this time. He whispered into Will's ear, voice so low, so dangerous.

"Given he has a history of smoking and alcoholism, so his organs aren't a priority to me. They would likely be beyond repair already. That being said," Hannibal pondered for a moment. "I would like to personally strangle him. I would hollow him out and make a point of liquefying his innards, perhaps with an electric carver. I would carelessly pour the remains back into the hollow cavity with a severe lack of regard for intricacy. I would love to his face drenched in his poison."

Will shuddered, voice pitched up and cheeks red. He shouldn't be getting aroused by this. "Would you kill him for me if I asked?"

Hannibal cocked his head, catching his eye in the mirror again. "I feel compelled to do so, even if you didn't ask."

"God, Hannibal," he groaned.

"Would you like me to defend your honour, Will? The police could tote me away from the scene and imprison me." He kissed his neck. "But I would be protecting you, and I would never regret having to surrender my freedoms in order to achieve that."

He shook his head, gasping as Hannibal bit at his earlobe. "Hannibal, that's-" The words caught in his throat.

"Yes?" His voice was absolutely liquid, opaque.

"Unnecessary," Will forced out, breath coming quickly.

"I clearly disagree." He kissed his face and his clothed shoulders, sniffing his hair. He loved it when Will's anxieties dissolved into lust under his touch.

"Don't- don't hurt him. I can't cope with losing you because of his evils."

Hannibal rubbed Will through his pants. The liquid quality of his voice returned, stronger this time. "Perhaps we could make a pact to be as civilized as possible in this meeting with your father. I would happily reward you afterward if you behave."

"Reward me for not harming my own father? That hardly seems like behaviour in need of reward."

Hannibal shook his head. "Seeking closure and catharsis with your abuser is understandable, if not natural. I would reward the fact that you exercised discipline in restraining the urge to bring natural justice to the world, in the name of civilized law."

"It's _law_ for a reason, Hannibal," he mumbled.

"Law rarely takes into account the importance of human instinct and nature."

"It's the duty of the law to prevent anarchy and chaos—to hold people responsible for injustices."

"Where was the law when your father broke your nose in a fit of drunken rage at the age of five? Or when he held your hand against the stove when you burnt his dinner? When he would denied you food and you contracted severe food poisoning from scavenging food from the motel dumpster?” Hannibal’s voice was toneless and perilously sharp. The words made Will wince.

“Without law, we'd be free to be as base and cruel as animals,” Will said quietly.

Hannibal wasn’t quite ready to finish this conversation, but he yielded nonetheless.

“There is something to be said about man learning from base instincts," Hannibal responded.

"We have prevailed as the primary predator for a reason."

"And yet we find more and more people feeling alienated by society's constraints. We have seen many religions accentuating an importance in becoming enmeshed with nature. Surely ideologies such as that have emerged for a reason as well."

"Those ideologies are incompatible with modernity. We must progress forward from the primitive ideas of animism and naturalism if we wish to last as a species."

"Yet every time we copulate as man, we regress to our most primitive forms for a short while. The prevalence of sex in current society suggests that perhaps we have not progressed very far."

Will sighed, a surrender. A headache bloomed behind his eyes. It was far too early for debating legal philosophy.

"We're going to be late, Hannibal." Will turned to walk downstairs.

Hannibal reached out and grasped at Will's wrist. "It has been the duty of husbands for centuries to protect his lover's honour. You have been wronged, Will."

Will visibly faltered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "Let's go, Hannibal."

-

Will had happily surrendered all planning of this occasion. Hannibal chose the restaurant and the location, even sending an invitation to Mister Graham from his office, if not just to sate his flair for the dramatic. He had the opportunity to profile the man's address, place of work, and frequent drinking spots in the process. Just in case.

He booked them a lovely hotel in the historic district overlooking the city and the water.

This encounter was not likely to go well for a number of reasons. It only made sense for them (Will) to be able to relax after such a taxing experience, instead of having to fret over lodging after the fact.

Will hesitated to let Hannibal take the Bentley, lest his father truly think he was using his husband for his money and prestige. But he admittedly felt exhausted and the Bentley's seats were markedly more comfortable than his station wagon’s.

He fell asleep in the passenger seat, slumbering restlessly as Bach played through the speakers of the car. His hand rested on Hannibal's thigh, twitching minutely.

As they cruised down the interstate, Hannibal reached down to take Will's hand, stroking his thumb over his knuckles. He felt a sense of contentness, possession whenever his fingertips lingered over the warm metal of Will's wedding band.

-

They arrived in Charleston around 6 p.m. Will had slept for only four hours or so, but still laid silently for the rest of the ride. He held onto Hannibal's hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

They pulled up to a lively bistro. Will immediately noticed his father's beat up pickup truck and went rigid. Hannibal took note of the reaction and deliberately parked as far as possible from the car.

He shifted into park and looked over at Will. Under the lamplight of the parking lot, it was evident he was far more pale than usual.

"What do I say to him?" he murmured. "Every time we speak, it just ends in a shouting match."

"Would you like it if I did most of the speaking?” Hannibal offered. “I believe that I know your sentiments well enough to convey them to your father."

Will nodded. "I like that idea."

He kissed Will's ring. "Let me take care of this. Of you."

Will laughed shakily, looking away from Hannibal’s intense gaze. "I'll let you."

Hannibal climbed out of the car and opened the door for Will. They locked arms as they entered the restaurant. Upon entrance, Hannibal took a long whiff of the interior.

Cold, stagnant silence emanated from the couple closest to the door. Their expressions were strained and frustrated, presumably from years of a loveless and trying marriage. An anniversary dinner, most likely. A well-worn yet futile gesture.

The smell of under-seasoned and overcooked meats wafted from the kitchen. Over-perfumed oil beginning to burn. Aging cheese and a blend of dried spices incompatible with the flavour profile of the white fish it was being served with. Likely Tilapia.

Will murmured a few words to the hostess as Hannibal observed. The woman led them to Mister Graham's table. She took a look at Mister Graham and then at Will, offering a silent apology with painted eyes and lips.

What hit him the hardest upon approaching the man was the smell of a familiar cheap aftershave. He remembered having to coerce Will into using a different brand shortly after their engagement. Underlying the smell came the hot spice of hostility and agitation. Fatigue and isolation—a cool, oily stench.

But underneath it all. A hot, consuming sickness festered.

He locked eyes with Beau Graham as the hostess walked away.

Hannibal wanted nothing more than to take the man's innards in his hands and find his life's story in the lines of his waxy skin and hot blood. He wanted to find the answers as to why he would ever think it would be justified to treat Will the way he did.

Beau mirrored his distaste and loathing in equal measure. Will's anxiety came off in frozen, jagged waves of ozone and mint.

Hannibal shifted into the mindset reserved for when he was in the presence of imbeciles. Franklyn came to mind.

Will sat down, folding his hands into his lap. He cleared his throat nervously, "Dad, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal, this is my father, Beau Graham."

Hannibal extended his hand, only to be rejected in favour of a scathing comment. "How old are you, Doctor Lecter?" Mister Graham snapped.

Hannibal adjusted his jacket as he sat. "Fifty-two."

"And my son is thirty-seven," Mister Graham stated, accusation in his eyes.

Hannibal could feel Will's gaze acutely. "He is."

The waitress approached the hostile situation gingerly, introducing herself as _Caitlyn_ while she fidgeted with the ends of her bleached blonde hair. Her aroma of cheap cologne suggested an unmotivated boyfriend or roommate. She uses his shampoo, perhaps does his dishes and laundry, thus saving little time for her own needs.

How unfortunate.

She politely took drink orders as she shrunk under Hannibal's gaze. It's clear she wanted to make a comment on how Hannibal ordered for Will. She was at the end of her rope, clearly ready to snap at any moment, but perhaps she pondered the possibility for a large tip if she tried her best. After all, Hannibal reeked of opulence.

She scurried off.

Beau wasted no time diving back into his interrogation. "What is a fifty-something doctor doing with a thirty-something teacher?"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at the inevitable implication. "Being married, I believe."

"What do you want with my son? Why him?"

"You are mistaken, Mister Graham," Hannibal responded coolly, "I have no ulterior motives in marrying Will."

To the untrained eye, it would look like Hannibal was perfectly in control of his emotions in that moment. But Will knew better. He looked at his father the way Hannibal had looked at Budge.

He was a coiled viper; he was calculating. Carefully measured rage sparked in his dark eyes. He was ready to strike upon even a simple nod from Will. It was chilling and intoxicating to be privy to such precious information.

Mister Graham took a drink from his cheap draft beer. "I've looked you up, you know, Doctor Lecter. I know what you do. Don't think you can play your psychological mind-games with me."

Hannibal blinked. "If it appears that way, I assure you that it is only my nature."

Mister Graham muttered some curses under his breath as he took another drink from his beer.

Hannibal waited for him to finish. "If I may be so bold, Mister Graham, I have been informed that you believe that Will came into this relationship with financial interests at heart."

"Something like that."

"I would like to personally lay those qualms to rest." He took ahold of Will's hand.

"I hope I may make it clear that your son is in capable, loving hands. We eloped for a reason despite having a ceremony planned for this November. However, our Canadian spring holiday elucidated the requited sentiments we both held. It would have been more of a trial for the both of us if we waited to marry in favour of pleasing our friends and family."

"It sounds irresponsible," he scolded.

Hannibal cocked his head to the side. "The truest passion is often manifested by madness. Even something as common as Romeo and Juliet demonstrates such a theme."

It was clear that such a reference was lost on Mister Graham. Hannibal let silence settle as he heard approaching footsteps.

The waitress set a glass of wine and a tumbler of whiskey on the table. She quietly asked for their dinner order. Hannibal ordered for Will again, keeping his eyes locked on Mister Graham.

Will looked wearily at the expensive alcohol in his glass. The taste and colour reminded him of Hannibal's eyes in the autumn—stinging, luxurious, warm.

Mister Graham deliberately revived the conversation while the waitress was still in earshot. "My son wasn't always a queer."

The quick jerk of Will's hand in Hannibal’s suggested an uncomfortable association with the term.

Hannibal looked at Beau as he analyzed the profile of his wine. "Wasn't he? How are you so sure?"

"I know my son."

The pear was overpowering on the palate and almost drowned the notes of anise and cinnamon. It clearly was not the vintage that the menu proclaimed.

"Do you?" Hannibal asked.

Mister Graham narrowed his eyes. There was a comically congruent resemblance to Will's usual angry expression. However, he wanted to strangle this scowl from his face. He wanted to watch those uncannily familiar lips turn blue.

"Forgive me, Mister Graham. But I am Will's husband and a renowned psychiatrist on the board of directors at John Hopkins. While homosexuality is generally accepted as a socialized sensation, its roots in biology is undeniable."

Mister Graham avoided direct response. "What about you, Doctor Lecter? Are you gay?"

He wanted to cut his tongue out and watch the flesh of it contort under the influence of flame. "I have a tendency to look beyond physiology when picking a partner."

"Sounds greedy."

He offered a thin smile. "Call it what you may."

The waitress hovered in the corner, watching the situation unfold. She chatted with her co-workers, surely speculating the situation.

"If you are so renowned, why pick Will?"

Hannibal had to restrain a disgusted scoff. He settled for a pointed look. Beau Graham truly knew nothing about his son.

"We met when Jack Crawford of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI assigned us to the same case. Mister Crawford hand-picked Will because of his gift of advanced empathy. It makes him an exceptional investigator. _I_ 'picked' him for his unrivalled mind."

Mister Graham gagged in an over-exaggerated fashion to demonstrate his disgust. He paired it with a sweetly malicious smile. He thought himself amusing.

He wanted to pluck the teeth from that grin and force them down his throat in jagged splinters.

Hannibal entertained the vision of Beau Graham choking to death on his own blood and teeth. Perhaps he would root him to the hood of his truck. Perhaps he would force the glass and aluminum of the beer bottles surely littering the floor of the cabin under his skin. He could create such a grotesquely distended mosaic of gluttony, wrath.

Will recognized the vacancy in his husband's eyes. He yanked on his hand. Hannibal returned to the moment and blinked slowly, clearing the image in the process. He could sketch it later.

"It seems you are only able to portray changes as failures when it comes to shifting circumstances in Will's life," Hannibal said.

Mister Graham exuded confused rage; he didn’t understand the accusation, but he knew it was intended to be an insult. What a beautiful look on such a vile man. Perhaps he would wear that same look when he killed him. "What do you mean?"

"You have removed his agency in this situation and rendered him a victim of circumstance. I assure you, Mister Graham, he has married me of his own volition without ulterior motive. We care deeply for one another. Status has nothing to with it, and it never has."

Mister Graham's face began to redden. 

"Are you tryin’ to lecture me on my parenting?" he spat.

Hannibal offered a challenging glance in return.

"Not at all. I cannot pretend that I know what it is like to be a parent. It must be very difficult, especially for someone such as yourself, Mister Graham."

"I don't know what Will has told you..."

Hannibal took a drink of wine and tried to identify its true vintage before responding. "Will has told me enough, it seems."

"Are you analyzing me?" Beau's tone waxed accusatory once more.

"If so, I do apologise."

"Don't apologise, just stop." Mister Graham squirmed in his seat. It was a very satisfying sight for both of Hannibal and Will.

"It is unfortunately as innate as breathing for me, Mister Graham."

"You don't know me," he muttered.

"Don't I? I imagine you would be quite simple to dissect." The way his tone darkened further made Will shudder. He squeezed Hannibal's hand in warning.

Hannibal cleared his throat. "For example, you feel a duty to your mother and late wife to re-connect with your son."

He paused to watch the horror unfold across the man's face.

He continued, "You are in failing health and you see this as your last chance to make amends. However, you continue to alienate yourself with your inability to swallow your pride and be kind and forgiving to your child. Despite the fact that your son lives and breathes your ideal life of success and recognition, you scold him for his subjective faults. You even paint his achievements as failures as to lower him to your level of misery."

Will watched as his father faltered under Hannibal's analysis. It was delicious.

"You would rather hope that your son will take pity on your circumstances and will, in turn, make more invested attempts in connecting with you. Perhaps you hope that Will may return with you to Louisiana and care for you. Perhaps you hope he will forget the east coast and its radicalism. Settle down with a wife."

Mister Graham's ears began to redden in rage, in shame.

"There is a threshold in us all where forgiveness is no longer an option. You have crossed that threshold with Will long ago. If you wish to make amends, I assure you, it will be on Will's terms or not at all."

At least Beau Graham knew when he was losing a fight. "Why do you speak for him? Let me hear it from my son," Mister Graham said, exasperated. "You order for him and speak for him. Let him speak."

Hannibal looked at Will, minutely conveying concern.

"I have let Hannibal speak for me because I know he has my best interests at heart. I'm not in a place to forgive you right now, and Hannibal knows that. Hell," he looked at his husband, seeking reassurance. Hannibal grasped his hand tighter, anchoring him, "he often knows me better than I know myself."

"I don't think so. You're lettin’ this man lead you on, Will." His father spoke to him the same way he would when he threatened to run away.

For a moment, Will was in some bedbug-ridden hotel in Lafayette. _You aren't thinking straight, Willy. You know how hard it is for me to keep this life for us._

Will sighed. "He isn't. I'm not ignorant, dad."

"Come back to Louisiana."

_Come inside, Willy. The mosquitoes will eat you alive. You know I didn't mean it._

"No."

"I am dying." Now it was the frail voice of his mother rattling in his head. Will almost believed the regret and sincerity.

He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself. "I don't care right now. I can't. I am finally making a life for myself."

Mister Graham leaned forward, "This ain’t a life. This is manipulation."

His eyes shot open in utter exasperation. "And you would know, wouldn't you? About manipulation."

"He's turnin’ you against me. You know that the good memories will always overshadow the bad."

_Those people at school, those teachers. They want to take you away. They don't know us, bud. You know you love me_.

"Dad, don't-" He let go of Hannibal's hand, balling his hand into fists.

"I taught you how to fish. I got you your first dog."

"Stop-" He tried to shake the lightness, the fondness from his mind.

"Remember how excited you were to go on an airboat for the first time?"

He was shaking. "I was your housekeeper. You beat me, and you tore me down-"

Mister Graham reached across the table to touch Will's arm, looking into his son's eyes. "I’ve apologised so many times. You know how sorry I am-"

Will jerked away from the table when his dad made contact, quickly on his feet. Tears fell down his face and onto his jacket as he stormed off. The restaurant went silent as the front doors slammed shut behind him.

Hannibal fell into immediate protective mode upon seeing his husband so distressed. Every cell in his body screamed to strangle the man in front of him, but he smoothed his jacket and followed after Will.

Surely enough, he was leaning against the Bentley as he tried to light a cigarette with trembling hands. Tears glinted in his eyes as he looked up at Hannibal. He simply eased the lighter out of Will's hands, cupped his hand around the cigarette, and lit it for him.

Will took a long, numbing drag and sagged against Hannibal's shoulder. "I fucking knew it would turn out like this," Will said with a sniffle.

"You have someone on your side this time."

Will smiled against his shoulder, laughing weakly. "I suppose."

Hannibal kissed Will's head, happily breathing in the cheap nicotine, reminiscent of his days at University. He dropped a kiss behind Will's ear.

"What do you need from me?" Hannibal asked.

Will evaded the question. "I always can see his point-of-view, how hard he tries. I could always feel how uncontrollable it was for him to resist alcohol. I could never blame him-" Instead of getting more upset, he took another drag.

They stood in silence as he finished the cigarette. He stamped the butt onto the pavement and pressed his face into Hannibal's chest with a long sigh.

"Are you sure I shouldn't go in there? I have a beautiful knife in the glovebox. She's simply humming with anticipation."

Something sparked in Will's eyes. He was entertaining the idea. Hannibal happily capitalized on the fact.

He ran a hand down Will's arm, threading their fingers. "We could do it together. Hold the knife," he raised their joined hands, "Ignore his cries for mercy. Kill him," he brought their hands down together in an abrupt, stabbing motion. Will's breath caught as Hannibal guided his hands. It seemed like a dance.

A leader. A follower. Efforts to create art through expression of the synchronicity of minds, bodies. Will shivered at the thought of letting Hannibal lead him in such an act.

Hannibal begins kissing his neck, down his shoulder. Will stuttered out a breath while Hannibal pushed him against the car. "What is her name? The knife in the glove box."

"The Slavic goddess of death and rebirth entwined. In Russian, _Maslenitsa_. In Lithuanian, _Morė_." His voice filled Will's mind with a vision of straw effigies, of fire and flowers and decay.

Will breathed in sharply as Hannibal eased his hand down to massage the hardness emerging between his legs.

"You could kill him. I could take responsibility for brainwashing you." He nipped at his neck, peppering red marks across his collarbone. "People would believe I was the possessive mastermind, trying to control you. And you would be let go, free to live your life in peace." He slid a leg between Will's and pushed his hips against the solid muscle.

Will shook his head, restraining a whine. "I just got you for good, don't fuck this up because of me."

He unbuckled Will's belt, reaching down to stroke him.

"It's what we both want deepest down, Will."

He squirmed, bucking against his hand. "Hannibal, no."

"No?" He stroked him faster. "No to what?"

"We're going to get caught. Let's go to the hotel."

"Do you think that they're going to stop a man in a bespoke suit from indulging his husband in front of his Bentley?"

"This isn't Baltimore. This is Charleston."

"Are you saying that you won't let me finish you here?"

Will took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I don't want to have my father bail me out of jail for public indecency."

"Then get in the car and let me finish you. You're tense, and you need release."

Will swallowed, dropping into the passenger seat.

"In the back," Hannibal directed.

Will heeded Hannibal's demand and climbed in the back, erection rubbing uncomfortably on the inside of his pants. He joined Will in the back, pulling him onto his lap.

He rested his head on Hannibal's shoulder and softly kissed his neck. His breath caught when Hannibal began moving his hand down his cock in quick, mechanical motions. It was efficient, it was brutal, and it was unbearably hot.

"Fuck," Will whined. He wrapped his arms around Hannibal's neck, threading his fingers through greying hair. He was relentless against Will's dick.

Tears gathered in his eyes. It was almost too much. Hannibal was forcing his body to keep up with his onslaught. Tension mounted in his muscles as his breath came in clipped pants.

"Do you like it when I force you to take everything I give you?" Hannibal purred. His voice was liquid, hot through his veins. His hand moved impossibly faster.

Will buried his face in the crook of Hannibal's neck, breathing his expensive, exquisite cologne. Tears spilled and soaked into Hannibal's jacket.

"Answer me, Will," he demanded lowly.

"Yes," Will cried. "Oh god, yes."

Hannibal's second hand snaked around Will's waist. He pressed two fingers firmly against his hole, rubbing circles against the taut muscle.

Will thrashed in his lap.

"There you go," he soothed. Hannibal kissed the side of Will's head. His cock wept streaks of pre-come against his hand. "I always know what you need, don't I?"

"Yes, yes- oh fuck."

"No one knows you like I do."

Will shook his head fervently. "No one, no one," he sobbed.

He pressed a kiss above Will's ear. "Come for me, husband. Let go." He pressed a dry finger inside him.

Will gasped wetly, weeping as he came in Hannibal's hand. He spilled down Hannibal's arm and wet the front of his jacket.

Hannibal held the back of Will's neck as his shaking subsided. He tucked Will back inside his pants and continued to keep him close.

Hannibal withdrew his hand and kissed his husband's forehead. Will was acutely aware of Hannibal's hardness against him. "Do you want me to return the favour?" His debauched, airy tone almost broke Hannibal's resolve.

He shook his head solemnly. "If you'd like my company when we get back to the hotel, then I imagine we should leave it here. Otherwise, I cannot ensure my virility."

Will grumbled against his shoulder.

Hannibal tried to hide the amusement at the hands of Will's insatiable nature. "Will you stay in the car while I settle our bill?"

Will nodded, boneless. He let Will crawl off his lap and sag against the seat. Hannibal leaned over his lap to pull open the glove box in the front. A dangerous, sterile glint denoted the presence of his knife. He withdrew a sheath, which he tucked under his belt along with the knife.

"I will be back shortly," Hannibal said, intent glittering in his eyes. He pulled off his stained jacket and strung it over Will's shoulders.

Will snatched his wrist before he walked away. "Don't hurt him. Not right now. I can't-" he pled.

Hannibal paused. "I will not cause him undue bodily harm. You have my word." He eased his hand out of Will's grasp and shut the door.

He fixed his hair and took a long breath before he re-entered the restaurant.

He caught the eye of the waitress as he entered again, beckoning her over. "I would like to settle the bill as well as have our meals boxed."

She nodded as Hannibal handed her a credit card. He tucked his wallet back into his pants pocket and approached Mister Graham. He loomed over the table, face blank.

"I regret to inform you that Will and I will be taking our leave early."

"What’ve you done to him?"

"I was forced to ease him from a breakdown, if that's what you mean."

Mister Graham said nothing. Hannibal noticed the guilt under the facade of indifference and loathing.

"However, I am aware you mean that question to be undertaken on a grander scale."

"Yes."

"When someone is raised as a housekeeper, particularly as the sole home-maker, it can be a crushingly large responsibility. Most people fall into what they know, and as adults find themselves in congruent situations. For example, they’ll find a situation where an incapable lover relies on them for everything domestic.

"It however, benefits some much more when they find a lover that is highly capable. It allows them to flourish in a space where they feel taken care of, regardless of the amount of workload they take on domestically. Such is the case with Will and me. Of course, this is but one aspect of our relationship, but this is the most palatable and satisfying answer I can provide you.”

Mister Graham pressed his lips together, uneasy. "Surely you can help Willy see reason."

Hannibal ran his finger over the rim of his abandoned wine glass. He stood on a precipice.

The knife sat flush against his thigh, dormant. It would be so easy. So _satisfying_. He could bring Will his head, soak in the shock and secret delight upon his return with his prize. Of everyone Hannibal had encountered in this way, this man was perhaps the one who deserves this the _most_. It could right every wrong he ever did to Will.

"What is it you do, Mister Graham?"

"Construction," he mumbled.

"Do you have a business card?"

"Yes, I do.”

He made a decision.

"May I have one? We could call if Will changes his mind about reconciliation."

He slid one across the table.

"He already has my number from when I originally called him."

"I don't advise you contact that number again."

"Why is that?"

"We will contact you if something changes. Otherwise, I implore you to stay away from Will."

"Excuse me?"

Hannibal’s lips thinned into a grin. "How long have your doctors advised you that you have left?"

"’Bout a year."

"Much can be accomplished in such a span. If you'd like to live that long, I advise you stay away from Will."

Mister Graham blinked. "Are you threatening me?"

The waitress returned with the bill and a bag of their food. He returned his card to its place in his wallet. Elsewhere, he filed away Mister Graham's card.

"Good night, Mister Graham."

-

Will stared out the opposite window from the back seat when Hannibal returned to the car. He had Hannibal's jacket wrapped around his shoulders. He took a moment to memorize the angle of his body and how the light reflected in his glasses. What a striking profile.

He stirred when Hannibal opened the door. Hannibal returned his knife to the glovebox, fingers lingering over the blade. It truly is a shame that he was unable to use her. Perhaps another time.

The closing of the compartment seemed to be the thing that guided Will back to the present.

"How’d it go?" he asked, stretching.

"He will not be contacting you further if he is wise. I also have our meals if you wish to eat before we reach the hotel."

Will exited the car so he could settle in the passenger seat. "I can't say I'm very hungry right now."

"Understandable." Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and began toward the hotel.

Will fell asleep on the way. Hannibal contemplated if he made the right decision in leaving Mister Graham alive. As he hit a particularly long stretch of road, Hannibal glanced at his slumbering husband. While going to prison for defending his husband hardly seemed like an issue, he saw the fear in Will's eyes when he begged him to step down.

For once, Hannibal found satisfaction in pleasing another at the expense of his own desires. If pleasing Will meant keeping Mister Graham alive for a bit longer, perhaps it wasn't the worst idea.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not quite sure that I am done with this. But we'll see.
> 
> Forgive me for any inconsistencies; I started this whilst still watching season one. Let me know if there's anything glaring.
> 
> Critiques/Comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> x


End file.
